


A Break in Ceremony

by mandiholl



Series: Lyrium and Silk [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 07:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2723999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandiholl/pseuds/mandiholl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orlais is a strange place—especially for a Fereldan and a former Tevinter slave. Neither very inclined toward Tallis' subterfuge, Fenris decides they need a quick moment of stress-relief. When in Rome, right?</p><p>Set during Chapter 3 of the game, after Moira and Fenris have patched things up, but before the climactic rebellion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Break in Ceremony

“How do I look?”

Fenris merely hummed, finishing the last tie on the back of her vest and stepping back so she could turn toward him.

“I'll take that as a compliment,” Moira chuckled, fetching the elf's gauntlets to help him put them on now that she was tied in. She couldn't help but smile and blush slightly, the intimate contact with him was not one they shared often. Something about feeling the different textures of his hands, the smooth palms and the tough callouses, as he stood so close to her, his warm breath gently tickling her forehead; it sent her stomach dancing and her heart leaping.

“I'm not sure there is a word sufficient for how beautiful you look, _amatus_ ,” Fenris said finally, as she started working on the second gauntlet.

Moira stopped buckling instantly, practically beaming as she looked up at him. As much as he hated the nation, the former slave couldn't help the occasional slip into Tevene—like _amatus_ , a name he'd only started calling her recently that she had yet to learn the meaning of—but somehow he still managed to weave those uninvited words together in a way that made her weak at the knees.

“I'm still hoping to one day see you in a gown, though,” he added with one of his rare wry smirks.

“I don't wear a gown for _just anyone_ ,” she replied with a smile, finishing the last buckle on his gauntlet. “Only _you_.” Tapping the elf's nose affectionately, she fondly adjusted the silk jacket she'd gotten him on the off-chance that they ever went to a formal event together, now very glad she had. “Tell you what—when we get back to Kirkwall, we can stop by Jean Luc's and you can help me pick one out. It'll be our little secret.”

“I like the sound of that,” the elf murmured smugly, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead and leaning forward for a kiss.

That is, until there came a knock on the door.

Fenris growled in frustration. Moira gave a little laugh at the ironic timing, and then gave her lover a consolatory peck on the cheek before going to attend to their visitor.

Of course it was Tallis, come to check up on them and impatient to start her _actual_ mission. Not only that, but she suggested they split up, and as much as Moira dearly wanted to see Fenris and Varric endure fancy dinner party conversation, Tallis was right—it would make things much safer if they had someone to watch their backs while they probed for information.

It was probably for the best too. While certain guests were perfectly pleasant and possessing a myriad of fascinating stories, others were painfully awkward. It didn't exactly help that Tallis became antsy every time she shared more than a few passing comments with someone. Did she even know how long Orlesian parties could last? Perhaps she was just used to completing her jobs fast—the mark of a good rogue was speed and stealth, after all. Well, it seemed she would have to be patient this time, as luck appeared to be against them tonight.

•••

Fenris and Varric meanwhile hid in the shadows of a nearby hedge, watching with growing frustration as Moira and Tallis pulled aside their second server and third lead of the night. Soon Tallis would retreat inside with the woman and they'd have to wait five to ten minutes before they'd find out whether they did or didn't have the key.

Of course Fenris's aggravation was focused more on Hawke and how well she seemed to be blending in.

“What's wrong, elf?” Varric murmured with a playful nudge to the broody man's ribs. “Having second thoughts about tagging along? Don't tell me you're starting to miss your dirty, blood-soaked mercenary queen?”

Yes, yes he was. He didn't belong here—neither of them did. She was like a different person all decked out in silks and socializing with the upper-crusts. She was certainly doing a good job at playing the part, however—she was radiant, magnetic, in a way normally rarely seen outside of her circle of friends. Did these nobles know how lucky they were to see her this way? Judging from Seneshal Bran's face, no: they still thought her quaint and simple. Fools. She was his everything, and right now he was aching to show them all what they were missing. Patience spent, Fenris merely growled, leaving the shadows and striding toward Moira with wide, purposeful steps, leaving Varric to puzzle over the elf's mission as he always did.

Tallis had just pulled the elven servant inside to speak with when he reached the woman, readying to casually sip wine and pretend not to be waiting for something. Without a word he took her by the wrist and pulled her after him, leading her to one of the garden's secluded alcoves.

“Fenris, what is it? What are you doing?” Hawke asked in hushed, worried confusion as she was pulled away from the rest of the party. Before she could say much more, however, he had pulled her against him, back to front, burying his face in her slender neck while his hips ground against her plump behind.

“You're certainly doing a good job of blending in with these _pompous nobles_ ,” he growled as he took her earlobe between his teeth, gauntleted hands careful not to rip the silk of her bodice as they firmly palmed her breasts. “Almost _too_ well. You've almost convinced them you're as blue-blooded as those prancing De Launcets. What did they call me? Your _'manservant'?_ I think we need to teach them a lesson—show them how upper-class you really are. Would you like that, _amatus?_ To have your 'manservant' _fuck the aristocrat_ right out of you?”

Moira gasped and moaned as the elf thrust his hips to accentuate his words, all too soon pressing back against him with a guilty eagerness. She barely registered it when one of his hands ceased its groping to wait patiently in front of her, buckles facing her. Obligingly she loosened the leather straps holding the metal talons to Fenris's hand while leaving it fastened to his upper arm. It was the quickest and easiest way to remove the danger of injury without too many complicated fastenings to redo later.

The moment it was free, the elf's hand plunged under the waistband of her pants and smalls, fingers idly stroking her bud before plunging into her heat.

“Wha— _aaaah!_ —at's gotten into you?” the Champion mewled, writhing in his grasp, torn as to which way to bend and buck but so dearly wanting more.

“A desire to ruffle some feathers,” he purred, nipping at her jawline, just teasingly out of reach of her lips. “Shall we show them what I really am to you?”

“A-as long as we keep it quiet,” she whispered bashfully. The last thing they needed was for someone to investigate the strange noises coming from the alcove and ruin their cover—both the mission's and their quickie.

He chuckled, reaching his fingers for that elusive spot within her that had her spine bowing and legs near-collapsing underneath her, “I want you screaming my name for all to hear.”

“ _Aaahnnn_ , Maker!” Her hand wasn't quite quick enough to stifle that exclamation, being occupied with clinging to Fenris to keep from falling. “F-Fenris, _please_...”

That was enough persuasion for him—he was already painfully hard just _anticipating_ the deed they were about to perform. Spinning the woman around, they managed to get her leg out of one pant leg, which was as much as they could risk. It was much easier to untie the laces of his breeches, and then pinning her to the wall, hitching her leg around his hip, and thrusting into her was instinctual. Maker, her wet, tight heat never ceased to amaze him. It washed over him like he had dreamed his precious freedom would, before the cold reality of vengeance had been revealed to him. And it was because of that that he couldn't get enough of her, hips pumping hard and fast until her legs were trembling around him as he devoured her mouth, joining them in every way possible. Curse her vest, opening only in the back—her breasts were divine, and it was cruel to be denied them.

Just like that, the mission was forgotten; no Heart of the Many, no Olesian pomp, just the two of them in the most beautiful countryside of Thedas, reconciling their passions against a hard world. Nothing but heat and tightness, panting and grunting, glimpses of flushed skin and the stars behind tightly-shut eyelids, pleasure building and building until Moira tensed up around him, a taut string drawn until it snapped.

“M-Ma- _Maker—Aaaahhhn!_ ” she cried, nails raking his silk-covered back as her trembling turned to convulsions, her inner walls clenching and milking his manhood until he followed her off the edge and into the abyss with a ragged cry.

His brands flared to life as he pressed his face into the crook of her neck, hips jerking spasmodically as he spilled himself within her. “ _Nnnngg—Venhedis!_ ” he growled, his frustrated energy finally leaving him, replaced by smug satisfaction that all here would know now—she was his.

They spent the next few long moments catching their breath, leaning against each other to keep from falling as they regained their strength. When he was finally able, Fenris gently removed himself, bare hand caressing the Champion's naked thigh as he peppered her rosy face with kisses.

“You,” the woman panted, wry smirk on her face, “are a wicked, _wicked_ man.”

“I am _yours_ ,” he countered, retrieving the kerchief that Hawke had given him in addition to the suit and cleaning the both of them off.

Moira's heart swelled, unable to resist when her beloved elf spoke so lovingly. “And I am yours,” she replied, leaning down to fondly kiss his forehead as he helped her back into her pants. The irony of such romantic talk while they redressed themselves after such a naughty tryst was not lost on her, but she was too sated to care. “You know,” she continued as she helped re-buckle his gauntlet, “one of the few perks of a dress is that things like these are _much_ easier... Perhaps, when all of this is over and we've acquired said dress, we can recreate the experience, hmm? Maybe in my garden, after a few drinks?”

“I'll hold you to that,” Fenris grinned. “But come—no doubt Tallis is waiting for you.”

They checked their wardrobes before sharing one last kiss, and then Moira slipped out, trying her best to look innocent as she returned to the keep doors where, indeed, the elven maid was waiting for her. Casting the soiled handkerchief into the bushes, Fenris was about to return to his own duty keeping watch out for the guards when Varric appeared at the mouth of the alcove, grinning one of those “I-know-what-you-did” grins, clearly relishing the secret knowledge he now possessed.

“Not a word of this, dwarf,” he frowned, eyes narrowing in a clear warning. Varric should know well enough by now what he'd do should he share something this private.

“My lips are sealed, broody,” the dwarf replied, hands up appealingly. His grin, however, remained. “As they say, 'what happens in Orlais _stays_ in Orlais'.”

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you wondering, Fenris is wearing the awesome coat from zombiezer0's Fenris Files mod — http://static-3.nexusmods.com/15/mods/141/images/3038-1-1318383385.jpg (the farthest on the right).


End file.
